


Home, if You'll Have it

by sohydrated



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Comfort No Hurt, Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Domestic Fluff, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24094744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohydrated/pseuds/sohydrated
Summary: Post B&W, Geralt lets the other wolves know that there's an open-door policy at Corvo Bianco.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Comments: 80
Kudos: 290





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I'm soft I just want them happy and safe together.

The first thing Geralt had done after finding he was allowed to keep Corvo Bianco was pen letters to the other witchers. Not that they were easy to track down, but with so few left each of them had established loose routes that they would follow. Eskel traveled far, collecting knowledge from the many holds. He most likely was in Kovir, the gold was good and with so many mages he could trade rare ingredients for books or magic trinkets. Geralt sent his letter out with one to Triss, just to say hello and see how she was settling into the Koviri courts. 

Lambert had usually kept close to Kaedwen ever since the Progrom. Not that he'll ever admit it, but he was protective of the school and still carried guilt over not being there when the attack happened. He would have died, more than likely, but the injuries carried by survivors of tragedy do not heal in a way that makes sense. 

However, now that Keira had gotten her cure for Catriona and Radovid was dead, Geralt knew that Lambert was accompanying her around Oxenfurt. No doubt giving headaches to the academics and swindling the students out of coin. He sent his letter there, with one to Keira in congratulations on her accomplishments. 

He did not expect much out of it, they were nomadic by nature and all of them had found somewhere else to bunk down for the winters. Kaer Morhen had not been inhabited for, what, three years? They couldn't go back there, not yet. Geralt didn't know if they ever would, and he didn't know if it was the right choice. All he wanted was for them to know that they had a place, should they want it. 

\--

A month had hardly passed when he was awoken in the early hours by a knock to his bedroom door. Three perfectly timed raps, which meant it was Barnabas-Basil. He pushed himself off the bed with a groan and opened the door, surprised to see his majordomo in a robe and sleep clothes, silken pants tucked into boots. He wasn't wearing his signature glasses, and his hazel-green eyes were barely open.

"Apologies for the timing, but there is a man here to see you. A witcher, he  _ insisted _ I fetch you right away." His cadence was formal as ever, as if he were in full uniform. 

Geralt smiled wide. "Go back to bed, BB. I'll handle it." He threw on a thick woolen shirt and some slippers (did he think, years ago, that he would be the sort of man to own  _ slippers? _ ). 

The majordomo sagged with relief. "Thank you, Geralt. I will be back in a few hours should you need anything." He didn't even nod his head, just shuffled out the door toward his quarters. Geralt followed him out, and saw Eskel standing in his foyer. 

Seeing Eskel was always like coming home. He had thought, for awhile, that it was because he associated the other with wintering, but that wasn't it. Eskel was the other half of him, the part that knew him as naturally as breathing. His hair was windswept and messy, and it reminded him of the little waif he had met almost a century ago, clinging to the horse he was brought in on as if it was a lifeline. He smiled easily, the crinkles of his scarred side becoming severe in a way they only did when his guard was down. 

"What, Wolf, I need to request an audience to see you now? I argued with that guy for ten minutes!" Geralt had been tranced by the dissonance of seeing Eskel in his home, but it lapsed and he fell into the other's arms in an easy embrace. 

"Never. BB is just neurotically good at his job." He tucked his face against the other's neck, smelling the sweat and dust of the road and  _ Eskel _ . He could feel the other witcher doing the same. 

"It's good to see you, I didn't expect you to come by so soon. I've missed you." He said as they parted. 

"What, an' miss seeing you get fat in retirement? Perish the thought." Eskel chuckled at his own joke.

"Who said anything about retiring? I'm just...taking an extended break." He hadn't actually thought in depth about what to do now that he had a home. BB could certainly run the estate while he traveled, and Regis had asked him what he planned to do, but he gave a vague answer. No witcher expected to retire, even Vesemir had traveled for the occasional contract at almost four hundred years old. 

"Uh-huh, sure." Eskel replied with a yawn. 

"There's a washbasin in my room if you wanna clean up and come to bed. You must be tired." Geralt said, stifling his own yawn. 

Eskel nodded. "Sounds like a plan. Go to bed, I'll join you when 'm done, unless?" He cocked his head to the side, leaving the rest of the question unsaid.  _ Unless we don't do that here _ . 

Geralt waved the idea off. "This is my place, if anyone has an issue with what I do they can leave. Besides, Toussaintois are not exactly known for keeping to one side of the aisle, you know?" 

Eskel smiled, and the hard lines around his eyes softened. "Okay, show me where to go." 

Geralt had tried to stay awake while Eskel put his stuff away and cleaned up, but he couldn't. The other witcher generated this calming energy, making him feel so settled that he was already in the twilight of unconsciousness by the time he felt the bed sag next to him. Eskel tucked himself up behind him, practice showing in the way they easily slotted together. He kissed Geralt's bare shoulder.

In a murmur he could barely make out as sleep took him, he heard "I missed you too, Wolf." 

\--

He settled in quickly, in spite of their initial meeting, BB had taken a shine to Eskel. He may not know all the machinations and little rules of being a landed gentleman, but he always acted with clear respect and kindness. It took barely two weeks for the majordomo to seek him out with books to read on Toussaint's history or an occasional work of fiction. Eskel read them all and would have spirited discussions with BB whenever they saw each other. It was the most talkative Geralt had ever seen him with a civilian, though he knew Barnabas could charm a badger out of its burrow if need be. 

With Eskel there, the estate was beginning to feel like a home. Not the bittersweet sting of the keep, where memories of their pranks were intermingled with the faces of dead children and comrades, but the home that people wrote about. The home that, worryingly, he was becoming more and more attached to. The past few years had been one kick in the head after another, regret and grief washing over him in waves and making him soft-hearted. Seeing Eskel smile as Marlene piled another helping onto his plate, safe and happy and  _ his _ , was the only thing that had soothed him. 

So, naturally, it was at that exact moment that a loud crash and the screams of the workers broke his peace. They were both already on their feet, grabbing their swords and heading out the door toward the commotion in the vines. 

Several of the lattices had been crushed by some groaning entity, and the workers had all hid before they could see what it was. The two witchers crept up on either side of the destruction, only to hear familiar cursing. 

"I'm going to fucking  _ kill _ Metz for this! What if I was impaled on one of these? She'd be real fuckin' miserable then." 

Lambert. Of course. Leave it to him to make an entrance. 

"Oh quit your  _ wine-ing _ , Pup, you're fine!" Eskel joked, sheathing his sword and offering a hand.

"Don't be like that Eskel. If Lambert died I'd be absolutely  _ crushed. _ " Chimed Geralt, giggling at his own joke. The other two witchers paused, hand in hand to stare at him.

"You know? Grapes? Crushed?" He added, trying to suppress his laughter. 

"No, I got it. It was just bad." Said Lambert, who was plucking vines off his armor. 

"So, what has you  _ dropping in _ on us unannounced?" Geralt tried again, full belly laughing before any of them could react. Lambert groaned and scrubbed a gloved hand over his face. Eskel scoffed. 

"Can we go inside? I'd rather not have these people subjected to him practicing his twilight career as a comedian." Lambert looked to Eskel, who was wondering if he should tell the younger witcher about the red splotch he had just smeared on his face. He decided not to. 

"Yeah, come on." He guided them toward the house. Marlene took one look at the younger witcher and grabbed a third plate, piling on food and resting it in front of him before he could even sit down. Lambert was surprised enough to offer a sincere "thank you" and she nodded at him and went back to the kitchen. 

"What the shit is this?" He turned to Geralt "You have people waiting on you know? I can't believe it, one of the biggest pricks on the continent and now he has servants." He then stuffed his face, which still had grape juice staining the skin. 

"I'll have you know my work, and not my giant prick, earned me this house. But what happened to you? I warned you what happens when you piss off a sorceress." 

Lambert rolled his eyes so hard they may have been in danger of popping out. "Fucking gross."

He took a sip of the wine that had been brought out. "Anyway, Keira  _ suggested _ I winter here after I had a, shall we say, disagreement with one of her colleagues." 

Eskel made a face. "Did you destroy property or assault someone this time?" 

Lambert flashed his metaphorical fangs. "The guy has a few broken metacarpals for his trouble. He was looking at me like he couldn't wait to dissect me, I told him to fuck off, he didn't. As far as I'm concerned I did all I could to prevent this." He gave an exaggerated shrug.

Geralt scoffed. "That's more de-escalation than I've seen you use in your entire life." He paused to take a bite of a roll. "Still, I can't say I blame you. Sorcerers are not very subtle about how much they want to study us."

"Or sorceresses." Eskel interjected.

"Yeah, well at least they show me a good time first." 

"Sorcerers do too, I met this one in Lyria that did the most amazing things with his-"

"Okay, enough!" Lambert threw up his hands. "Eskel, I don't need the mental image." He turned to Geralt, who had removed himself from the conversation via a mouthful of turkey. 

"So were you serious in the letter? You got room enough here for me to stay the winter? I don't want to go back to Keira yet, I like to make them miss me." He gave a wink, Eskel groaned. 

"She'd miss you like a hole in the head." 

"Shut up. Why are you here anyway? Are you wintering too?" 

Eskel paused, he hadn't really thought about it much, but it did make sense. And it would be the first time all of them had wintered together in years. 

"I don't know, I'd like to, but that's all up to the master of the house. What do you say, Wolf?" He looked to Geralt with a lopsided smile. Geralt's heart did a small flip. 

"Of course. I wouldn't want you guys anywhere else." He looked at both of them with such fondness on his face that Lambert squirmed in his chair, uncomfortable. 

"Alright alright, enough with the mush. Will someone show me around?" He stood, and the other two did as well. Geralt was leading them out the door when Eskel caught the younger one's arm. 

"By the way, you've got a little shmutz, right here." He traced his own face to mirror the purple splotch that Lambert was still sporting. He whipped around and caught his reflection in a silver bowl. 

"Has that been there this whole time? Eskel? Eskel get your ass back here!" He called, tearing out the door after the laughing witcher. 

\--

Unsurprisingly, Lambert was most fascinated by the cellar, equally interested in getting his hands on wine and the alchemy lab that had been hidden inside it. He immediately took stock of Geralt's stores of ingredients, muttering to himself about the superior bombs and decoctions he could make. He lit up when Geralt handed him the mutagenerator Regis had left him and told him to have at it under the condition that he didn't build bombs while drinking. The older witchers left him there and walked about the grounds, finally coming to rest under an old olive tree. They sat watching people busy themselves in the vineyard, outlined in gold from the setting sun. 

"Do you really want us to winter with you?" Eskel asked as he continued to run his fingers through Geralt's hair. 

"That is why I told you where to find me, after all." He replied. "I don't know what I'll be doing after this winter, but these past few years, losing my memory and facing even more certain death than before got me thinking about what's important to me. You and Lambert, you are my family. Do you remember, when we both set out on the Path for the first time, how hard it was to adjust to being without each other?"

Eskel nodded, staring off in the distance. "That's why I never believed any of that 'emotionless witcher' nonsense. If we didn't have emotions, I wouldn't 'a been such a sad sack. I moped almost 'till the next winter."

Geralt gave a somber half-smile. "I was much the same. I worried too, worried that you'd be hurt, and what if I didn't know? It was easy to ignore most of the time, but it was there. Now that it's just us, I worry even more. Despite the fact that you're one of the most talented witchers to have existed--Don't give me that look, it's true--I worry because you're my family and I don't want to give you up." He pressed a kiss to Eskel's lips, to emphasize his point. 

"So, yes. I want you both to winter here. I want this to be home, if you'll have it, that is." 

Eskel pulled him into his arms in a crushing squeeze. "When the fuck did you get so soft, old man?" 

"About the same time you got dimples on your ass-cheeks. Let me go, I can't breathe." Geralt wheezed. Eskel opened his arms unceremoniously and Geralt dropped onto his lap in a heap, gasping. 

"I'll stay. I'd stay anywhere, with you guys." Eskel said, pressing a kiss to Geralt's temple. 

\--

Lambert had loudly proclaimed that he would be taking the guest room when Geralt mentioned the bed would fit three. While the older witchers had grown up with each other and had naturally sought each other out for closeness and intimacy, the youngest was different. Geralt supposed it made sense, even before Lambert had told him about his father, he had suspected that his spiny exterior was learned, not innate. 

When they had first met, he had already been on the path for a few years. Lambert, at twenty years his junior, had terrorized the keep with his temper. He fought with everyone who would look his way, including Geralt when he would winter. Eskel, who stayed behind some years to help train the new classes, had taken a shine to the little bastard. He told Geralt to look past the insults, what was he trying to accomplish by throwing them? That, Geralt had thought, was clear. He wanted everyone to leave him alone. As to why, he wasn't sure. Eskel only shook his head. 

One night, Eskel had not yet come back to their room, and Geralt went looking for him. He found Eskel with his ear to the door of a student's room, and bade him to come over with a crooked finger. Geralt, confused, crept closer. Eskel nudged open the door enough to see into the room. There was Lambert, curled up on the chest of his roommate, Voltehre, sleeping soundly. His face was free of the scowl that it usually had, he looked at peace. There was the faint smell of fear in the room, but whatever had caused it had passed. They closed the door and walked back to their room. 

He understood more then, and when they met on the Path a few short years later, he bought Lambert a drink, played dice with him. The whole time the younger man watched him like a weary animal, willing to accept the offer of drink and distraction but ready to strike at a moment's notice. Enough repetition, and a lot more maturing on the younger man's part, and they settled into companionship. It would never be the sort of easy, second-nature love that he had for Eskel, but when Lambert wedged himself against Geralt that night at the estate, he accepted the kisses laid in the crook of his neck. 

"Thought you were taking the guest room." Geralt muttered into his hair, soft with the edges of sleep. 

"Bed isn't comfy." Lambert whispered back, pulling Geralt's arm over his waist and snuggling closer. 

"You sleep in the woods." A smirk played on his lips. It was hard to not get in one or two more prods when it came to the younger witcher. 

"Shut up." Eskel grunted from the other side of Geralt. "Or you both 'an sleep in the guest bed." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added another chapter bc its shaping up to be longer than I thought (no one is surprised)

Wintering in Toussaint was very little like wintering at Kaer Morhen, obviously. Not only was it blessedly warm, something Lambert was thankful for every day, but he was able to still take contracts. He had assumed that the area would be devoid of them, considering Geralt lived there, but it turned out that warmer weather meant more time for beasts to cause trouble. 

This didn't bother him one bit, as much as he griped when someone from the Ducal Treasury would conscript him into dealing with more vile archespores. He was always restless, even as a small child the only way he could quell the bubbling anxiety in his chest was to be on the move. Wintering at the keep meant roiling in the feeling until he exploded at the nearest target, pleasant in the moment but it bit him in the ass later. He was, dare he say, calm. At least more calm than he was used to being.

The land was also beautiful and fertile, despite being exceedingly bright. 

"What'd you expect? You need the sun to grow these herbs after all." Eskel commented from the log he was sitting on as Lambert picked his way through the underbrush. He scoffed.

"If you knew anything, you'd know these spores don't need sunlight. It's mold, not a plant." He was scraping a sample of sickly green mold into a jar from a dug up, partially decayed deer corpse. His nose wrinkled against the harsh smell. This was by far the part he hated most, the collecting. It was dirty and slow and so, so boring. So was the actual alchemy, come to think of it, but he got to make something, which outweighed the tedious nature of it. 

"Uh-huh. I don' need to, jus' pick some up from the herbalist." Eskel was smirking as he watched the younger man retch when a breeze blew more of the scent into his face. 

"Fuck that, they rip you off. This isn't even that rare, people just don't know what to look for." Satisfied that he has enough for the fiend decoction and perhaps a little left over for cultivation, he stands and shoves the jar into his pack. 

"Done?" 

"Yeah, for now. I just need buckthorn and we can call it a day." 

"Buckthorn? Only the stinkiest for our lil' Lambert." Eskel teased as he stood. Lambert scowled.

"I know you're just trying to get a rise out of me, but seriously? At this point, what're a few measly decades between witchers?" He scented the air for a whiff of water, or anything other than that fetid carcass, really. He caught the scent of cattail, moisture, and sunbaked rocks. Good, just east. Pellars needed a divining rod, he just needed himself. 

"Between me an' another witcher? Not much. 'Tween me and you, pup, it makes quite the difference." He followed in step next to Lambert, posture casual but eyes skimming the trees for threats.

"Yeah, I'm still spry and nimble and  _ you _ have a crick in your back. Don't lie, I see you get out of bed in the morning." The jab didn't have a lot of bite to it. In truth, seeing even a minor sign of aging in Eskel or Geralt worried him, but he was good at stuffing down worries. He had years of practice. 

"You'd have more'n that if a cyclops threw  _ you _ into a building. I killed it an' lived to tell the tale jus' fine. I was a side sleeper anyway." He shrugged, seeming blasé at his own story. Lambert snorted and kept walking.

\--

  
  


The pond was ridiculously blue. It was stupidly blue. Ponds were supposed to be murky and brown-green with slime, and this one was so clear he could see to the bottom. Which was helpful for his task, of course, but he frowned anyway. 

"Is tha' your 'appreciating nature' face?" Eskel asked, taking a last look around before shucking off his boots and unfastening his armor. 

"It's too bright here." Was all Lambert said in reply. He was removing his own armor, no point in going in fully geared up. The pond seemed clear of danger, just small fish swimming in lazy circles through the buckthorn he sought to pick. 

Eskel waded into the warm water toward some large rocks. The closer he got, the warmer the water was on his skin. He found a comfortable spot to sit and relax with his aching back and his body soothed by the waist-deep water. The soreness melted away as the heat of the boulder he leaned against seeped into muscle. He tipped his head back, his hair falling behind him as he let the sun warm his face. 

"'S beautiful here. I've never felt so relaxed." His voice was a low murmur.

Lambert watched him, stripped but not yet in the water himself. It wasn't often he got to see one of the other witchers so tranquil. Sure, they meditate, but that was a result of using mutations and discipline to control one's body and mind. Eskel was experiencing peace, and he knew it because Eskel rarely let anyone's eyes linger on him for too long. 

So he let himself drink the other man in; he always found Eskel to be especially compelling, though he'd never tell anyone. His body just drew him in, he knew better than most the power in every ounce of it, and he was delighted by the layer of fat Eskel had accumulated. It was just enough to make his body soft, hiding the harsh lines of muscle and giving him a delicious little paunch. His fingers itched to touch and knead at it. 

_ I guess I'm relaxed too _ , he thought, feeling warmth and fondness for the other witcher. It was rare that his anger and anxiety simmered down enough for him to feel much else, but it did happen when he felt safe.  _ Huh, safe. When's the last time that happened? _

He waded into the pond, finally, because he  _ did _ , in fact, have stuff to do. He dove under the surface of the crystalline water and plucked the buckthorn out of the sand, leaving a few for the fish to still swim though. The second it met the air, the slimy brown plant gave off a repulsive stench, exactly like a stag's piss. Truly remarkable that a plant never even meant to be on land smelled so strongly. He shoved it into another jar with some water to keep it fresh, at least he didn't gag this time. 

With that out of the way, the younger witcher was free to swim and scrub in the picturesque watering hole, removing the lingering stench of carcass and his own sweat. He was just finishing up when he noticed Eskel watching him, one eye open as he basked. 

"What, is that  _ your _ appreciating nature face?" He smirked at his own joke. 

"Mmm, I'm appreciatin' somethin' alright." Eskel smiled, slow and lazy as he propped himself up by his elbows to get a better look at Lambert, but the man was already swimming towards him, to between his splayed legs. He put a hand on each of Eskel's generous thighs and pulled himself up. 

"This isn't a museum, you can appreciate with more than just your eyes." Lambert said, leaning in close to Eskel's face. 

"Don't have to tell me twice." He said, putting a damp hand on the back of the younger witcher's neck and pulling him into a kiss. 

\--

Geralt was repairing a minor nick in his silver blade when Eskel and Lambert came up the entryway to the stone courtyard. From the distance, he could see the relaxed slouch of Eskel's shoulders, and the way Lambert was walking closer to him than he normally might. As they approached, his keen eyes  _ also _ picked up on the love bites on Eskel's neck, and his gaze flicked to meet Lambert's. 

"So, you guys have a good time?" He teases, and Lambert scrunches his shoulders up, but he looks like he's trying to hide a smirk. Eskel beams.

"Shame you missed it, Wolf. We took a swim that was very  _ invigorating _ ." He winked, and Lambert's shoulders creeped higher, but he said nothing as he shoved past them and into the cellar with his alchemy bag. Geralt watched him leave.

"It is a shame, not often you see him that at ease. What magic did you work to get him like that?" 

"None," Eskel chirped, "he actually 'pproached me this time. This place's really good for him, I think." His voice was softer, contemplating. Lambert really had seemed more relaxed here, they got into plenty of fights still, but only a fraction of what they would have while wintering at the keep. It was strange, but welcome. 

"I think we're all just getting soft and he's the last to know." Geralt said, turning back to his sword and the grindstone. 

"If we are, then 's all your fault for bringing us here." Eskel passed him the piece of worn leather he uses for honing the blade. Geralt took it, smirking up at him. 

"Never said it was a bad thing, some of us like a little softness." He poked Eskel's stomach, feeling it give just a bit under his finger. His hand was swatted away. 

"Gods, you're as bad as he is." Eskel complained, smiling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, i was originally going to post one long brick of a chapter but that's ugly. So, cutting up and spacing it out. Lmk what you think. 
> 
> Also, all I care about is chubby eskel. Gimme that bear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What comes next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, I've wanted to get back to this for a while bc I love this story so much, but I've had motivation troubles. Hopefully its to your liking!

By the beginnings of spring, Eskel could feel the energy shifting in the air around the estate. Not only was it thrumming with excitement as the workers began their prep for the season, but the wolves were keyed up as well. 

They still continued on as normal, not really talking about their plans for the year. Usually, the change in the seasons in the valley decided for them. The second the passes were clear, Lambert would be out like a shot, ready to work off his unspent energy on the nearest contract. Geralt would usually follow quickly after, pulled along by some obligation he'd wrapped himself in. 

Eskel, however, was usually in no rush. In years past, he had stayed behind until almost the summer, helping instructors with the younger cohorts. Later, when it was only them left, he would spend an extra few weeks at the keep, clearing out migrating monsters with Vesemir. It was hard to explain, he wasn't even sure another witcher would understand, but he felt obligated. He felt like he owed it to Vesemir, to the souls of other witchers, and even to the keep itself to maintain the space. 

Once, he had taken a contract to find a young man who had gone to his ancestral cemetery. He traveled a long way, every year, to clean the headstones and burn incense for people he'd never met. His wife had hired Eskel to find him when he didn't return home on time. Eskel had followed his path, and thankfully had found him alive. He was injured from a lone ghoul but had killed it on his own. 

Eskel helped bandage his wounds, one serious cut along his calf that had made walking difficult, along with more minor scrapes. He was lucky. Eskel offered to let him ride Scorpion to bring him home, but the man refused. 

"I still have to prune the vines from my great-grandmother's grave. She'll be cross if I don't." He said with a smile.

Eskel had stared at him with confusion. "What do you mean? You were attacked, we need t' get you home." 

He shook his head. "I can't leave just yet. She deserves to be honored." He limped over to the grave, fingers tracing the worn letters of her name. "One day, I'll die, and if I have not borne a child I'll be the last of my family. There will be no one left to remember her. I didn't ever meet her, but my mother told me stories. Apparently, she was so fearsome that her father begged potential suitors to marry her, but she ran them off. Instead, she chose my great-grandfather, the meekest man in the village." He nodded to the clean gravestone next to hers. 

When Eskel said nothing, the man spoke again. "Maybe a witcher wouldn't understand, not having a family and all. But I  _ owe _ her. I owe all of them. They made me, cared for the people who would bring me into existence. If I were to let her rot, I'm losing a piece of what made me, well,  _ me."  _ His eyes were mournful when he looked up to meet Eskel's gaze. 

He sighed, and pulled his trophy knife from his belt. He handed it to the man, who took it with a gracious smile and pruned his ancestor's grave.

That exchange followed him often around the halls of Kaer Morhen. The idea of honoring the memory of those long gone, even at the risk of his own well-being. But they weren't at the keep anymore, they were in a beautiful villa, with each other. The ones that had made it. Much like the man, they were the last of their kind. 

Was he supposed to continue on forever, working and scrounging in honor of little more than a memory? He wasn't sure. He couldn't bring himself to think about it. The call of the Path was weak in his ears.

\--

It was fully and truly spring. The equinox had passed and yet the wolves remained. Walking through the forest as he often did when he felt anxious, Lambert mused about what to do. It was the longest he had allowed himself to tip-toe around anything in his entire life. Pressure was building inside of him and he was close to bursting. 

Keira had sent him word that she would be in Oxenfurt for a few more weeks before traveling north. She invited him to join her on her trip, alluding to all of the ways a witcher could be useful to her. He knew that was her way of saying that she missed him, and she knew he missed her because he had bothered to respond. All he had said was that he had to figure some things out in Toussaint and that he would let her know. 

And fuck did he have a lot to figure out. This whole winter had changed so much, not only for him, but for his relationship with the other wolves. This was the most they had allowed themselves to touch, to be slow and gentle with themselves. The first time any of them had dared to do nothing, and be content with it.

It was nice, he admitted to himself, to be as close to normal life as they would ever get. Geralt had settled shockingly well into being a vintner, he could talk circles around Lambert with his knowledge of the fermentation process. He scoffed to himself; just a few years ago the older witcher could barely understand how he got his hooch so strong, and now he was producing wine by the barrel. 

Even Eskel, who he always saw becoming a grandmaster of the school in his later years, was now content to read his way through the estate's growing library. Many of their evenings were spent with Eskel lounged, reading with his feet up like a noble girl while eating treats from Marlene. He had even caught the older witcher taking measurements for a goat pen. It was clear things were changing. 

Lambert did a quick count, between the three of them, Letho, and a half-dozen cat school witchers he had only heard of, they were the last of their kind. How many times in his training days had he wished for this exact thing? For there to be no new witchers, the keep to be blown to pieces? And now that it had happened and they were safe, he felt mounting pressure in his chest where there should be relief.

Because if it was only  _ them _ , what was going to happen to the people who needed help? Especially when it isn't as if a viper or a cat knows shit about breaking curses. And it wasn't as if a normal person could banish a pesta or a penitent. Those regular people would be shit out of luck, there would be no one to turn to. The pressure in his chest wound tighter. 

_ Gods damn them all _ , he thought bitterly. The same stupid, backwater villagers who spat when he rode through town would be the same ones left most vulnerable by his absence. And, worst of all, he  _ felt _ for them; to be powerless against something much more dangerous than yourself is an awful way to live. He would know. 

Life continued to be a sick joke with him as the punchline. Lambert spat into the dirt at the thought. His entire life he had wanted to get away from the Path, the constant drudgery of being cold, filthy, sore, and broke with nothing to show for it all but a new scar. He used to daydream when he was young about what he would be doing instead, if destiny had never come and bit him in the ass. He stopped once he realized he could never imagine his own face without venomous, slitted pupils. 

Now, there was no Vesemir to lecture him about his duty, no one to hold him to this life, and he found himself anxious to get back to it. Fool that he was, he wanted to get back to the Path. He was  _ good _ at it, at fighting and outsmarting beasts and making bombs to blow up their nests. He could cook up a potion that would be stronger but less toxic than what the other witchers could make in a fraction of the time. He had honed his skills to be a master of his craft, even if it was a gods-awful one. 

Worst of all, he felt he was still needed there, in the continent. They were functionally extinct, but there was still room in this world for a witcher. Even if they never set out on the Path again, people would come to them, demand that they help. His idiot brothers would answer the call, they always would, their hearts still soft despite being fucked over time after time.

He kicked a rock and sent it flying, not even satisfied by the solid noise it made hitting against a tree. Eskel and Geralt have been through so much, he didn't want them back on the Path. Fuck that saying that witchers never died in their beds, they could be the first ( _ and last _ , his mind whispered, still stuck on the finality of their way of life). 

Lambert turned on his heel and stomped back toward the house, wondering how it was that everything only became more complicated as he'd grown older. When would he get to be the wise old bastard that knew everything? 

Never, probably. 

\--

The estate had been quiet the majority of the day, without Lambert around to cause mischief and the older witchers in the field. Eskel was helping Geralt train the year-old bushes they had planted a few weeks ago to a trellis. It was simple work and more about their time together than the actual cultivation.

Geralt untied the itching straps of the sunhat from under his chin, stubble catching the leather incessantly. One of the visiting vignerons had insisted Geralt take the hat after their shock of seeing him working in the sun with his "pale, pale visage." No amount of explanation on witcher mutagens would sway them from demanding he take their gift. 

And, well, it  _ did _ soothe his eyes from the blazing southern sun. Right now, though, the sun was setting and he was tired of fidgeting with the hat. He looked up to catch Eskel watching him fondly, expression soft as it followed his hand taking the hat off his head. 

"What?" He asked, smirk playing on his lips.

Eskel shrugged. "Nothin', jus' look nice in that hat, 's all. Like a real farmer." 

"Technically I am." Geralt replied.

"Suppose so." Eskel said, carefully stepping over the young bushes. He drew in close to Geralt, grabbing his free hand. 

"I was thinkin', y'know, what if--"

A dog barking and snarling cut them off. Some of the workers kept pets, though they knew the animals would not be fond of the witchers. For the most part, they avoided each other. There was one small collie, however, that seemed to have a vendetta against a certain witcher. The barking grew louder.

"Yeah yeah, fuck you too." Groused Lambert as he marched by the dog, paying no mind to the barred teeth that snapped at him. He caught sight of Eskel and Geralt, who waved him over. He flipped them off, continuing on into the cellar that had become his workshop.

The two just looked to each other, wondering if it was worth the potential decapitation to go check on him. _No need,_ Geralt thought. Lambert would tell them when he was ready, and not a second before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, on chapter left to go, for real this time. Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk, a consensus, an end, a beginning.

"So I'm heading out tomorrow. Back on the Path. Might go to travel with Keira a bit up north." Lambert's voice broke the comfortable silence they held while they ate. His tone was casual, but he was bending the fork in his grip. 

In spite of themselves, Eskel and Geralt balked. Geralt had thought…

Well, he didn't know  _ what _ he thought. It was well past when they should all have set out. He had been using the excuse that the vineyard needed him, though that couldn't be further from the truth. Between the skilled hands of the workers and Barnabas-Basil's talent for managing, he could disappear tomorrow and still have a reasonable yield when he returned. 

Further, that excuse didn't explain why  _ Eskel _ was still here, and not out on the Path. It felt as though they were playing their hand at domesticity, and he felt shame for forgetting their calling so easily. 

Finally, Geralt cleared his throat. 

"Guess it's well past time for us to get back out there. I'll look into having BB run the place while we're gone." His tone was hesitant, he knew what needed to happen, but for the first time in his life, the Path held no draw. Still, if the youngest witcher could get back to it, he could as well. 

Eskel grunted in agreement to the right of him but was pushing around the food on his plate rather than eating it. His face was unusually sullen. 

Lambert sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if the conversation pained him. Realistically it probably did, Geralt thought. 

"No." The youngest grit out.

Eskel looked up. "No?" He parroted back.

"I'm going out on the Path. You guys should stay here. At home." He chanced a look up at the other wolves, but their startled expressions were too much to handle, so he ducked his head back down until his chin touched his chest. He took a breath.

"I'll be back next winter. Take contracts around here if you have to inflate your egos, I guess." His voice was quieter than the others were used to hearing, but he appeared to regain some of his bravado and straightened up. 

"You're both getting old. It's time for you two to retire, you'll be useless with your bad back and knee." He nodded to Eskel and Geralt, respectively. Geralt rolled his eyes.

"You know we both function just fine. Besides, no witcher ever--"

"Died in his fucking bed. I know the bullshit line." Lambert snapped before huffing a deep sigh. 

"Look, there aren't a lot of us left. You guys are...fuck. You're important to me, okay? I've lost enough damn family for a dozen lifetimes. Just stay here," He paused for a beat, then, quietly, "please." 

Geralt turned to Eskel, both shocked at the honesty. Eskel spoke first.

"You say that, but what about you? Just gonna go out an' die on us?" He crossed his arms over his chest. 

Lambert flung himself back in his chair, mouth and brows drawn into a frown at Eskel's push back. 

"I'll be with Keira. If she can handle the Wild Hunt, I'm sure she'll help me hold my own against a few drowners." He leaned forward again, elbows on the table as he spoke. 

"I've seen the way you two are acting here, exactly like an old married couple. Can you honestly say you  _ want _ to be out on the Path?" 

Geralt mirrored Lambert's posture, getting closer to the younger wolf as he leaned in. 

"It's never been about what we want, Lambert, it's about what we are compelled to do." 

Lambert threw up his hands, exasperated grunt escaping him. 

"Exactly! It's  _ never _ been about what we want! But look around, Wolf, there is no guild anymore. There are no schools! Fuck being compelled, I  _ want _ to get my blade wet, I  _ want  _ to travel and blow up some shit and get thrown out of taverns for cheating at gwent. What do you want? Both of you? Have you ever taken a single second to think about that in between your oh-so-noble grandstanding?" 

And Geralt would be remiss if the little bastard hadn't voiced what they all had been thinking. Yet again, he felt at a loss for a rebuttal. His years of living by the way of his guild, he should be making an argument, but couldn't. 

So he did what he always did in moments like these; he turned to Eskel. 

"What do  _ you _ think about all this?" Hoping that he would make this complicated decision less clear.

Eskel's face was, oddly, somewhat placid. He gave a small nod, almost to himself before he spoke. 

"I think...I think I want us t' stay. If it doesn't work we can always go back t' the Path." He reached over and placed his hand over Geralt's, the rough pad of his thumb grazing the other witcher's. 

"But," he continued, turning a sharp gaze to Lambert, " _ you _ are comin' back. Every winter. No excuses." 

Lambert, to his credit, didn't argue for once. He grinned.

"'Course. I'd miss Marlene's cooking too much. Keira can't cook for shit." 

Geralt scoffed, shaken out of his personal conflict. 

"I've had her cooking, she's pretty good. You can barely make noodles, so I don't think you can judge." 

Lambert threw back his head and laughed, and it broke what spell was left over them. Geralt's posture settled a little, grounded by Eskel's hand on his. 

"Good thing that's not why she keeps me around." The youngest said with a wink, "So are we in agreement? You old fucks stay here and get fatter, and I come back to winter?" 

Geralt sighed, the weight of the decision heavy on his chest. Eskel squeezed his hand and gave a small smile of encouragement. 

"...Yeah. We can try it. Eskel is right, if we end up bored out of our minds we can always go back to the Path." Knowing he could have the option of going back to his old life helped soothe some of his guilt. If destiny wanted him to be a witcher, it could kick him back out to the Path by force and he'd go, message received. Until then, well, he could enjoy a taste of what it would be like to have a place in this world that was truly his own. 

The other wolves slumped in relief, the tension still in the air but now bearable. Geralt felt almost giddy, he was choosing his own future, perhaps for the first time in many, many years. And he wouldn't be alone, he and Eskel would be together like they had been as boys, though now with the agency to make their own decisions. Even though nothing physically would change from the months he had been at the estate making it a home for them, he felt gifted a sense of permanence. He met Eskel's eyes and saw a similar emotion, hope. 

Lambert watched the two of them, sharing an entire conversation without words. In this private moment, he committed the image to memory. He felt satisfied, his family would be safe while he wasn't around to care for them, and he had the promise of their open arms upon his return. 

\--

They spent the night with the youngest between them. Any hope that Lambert had of avoiding an overly emotional goodbye was doused when they made it clear that they were going to miss him. Geralt barely let go of him for even a moment, while Eskel whispered his love into his skin, kissing and nipping at any part of him not being lavished by Geralt. 

Had the older wolves not spent the past months easing Lambert into this amount of affection, they would probably have broken noses. But as it was, Lambert seemed to bask in it, teetering on the edge of being too much but wanting all of it, as if he could store this feeling to sustain him in his travels. 

Even in sleeping, the two never let go of him, the weight of their arms tossed over his torso giving a steadying pressure and lulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

\--

As if synchronized, Geralt's eyes opened in the pre-dawn hours the same as Eskel's, the twin irises meeting over Lambert's head as he slept. Wordlessly, the two slowly peeled themselves out from the tangle of limbs. 

They set to work, Geralt checking his equipment piece by piece as he packed it into his travel bags. Eskel brushed and tacked the new stallion Lambert had purchased a few months ago. He was a cool gray, with a star pattern on his bridge. Already the two had bonded, Lambert having trained him as he took on contracts around the duchy. He still refused to name it, but Eskel had caught him more than once whispering kind nothings to the horse when he thought no one could hear. 

He then set to the kitchen for the assortment of provisions Marlene had thrown together late in the evening when she heard of Lambert's plan. They had a surplus of dried meats and fruits, perfect for the trip, but she also had made the tarts that he liked, the ones with bitter apples that set his teeth on edge. A sour treat for a sour man, he laughed and wrapped them in butcher's paper so they wouldn't stick. 

In the cellar, Geralt gathered all their surplus dried ingredients, already sorted and stored away by the young witcher's meticulous hand. They could restock later, but Lambert would need all he could get on the Path. He also slipped in the mutagenerator, knowing that it would be of much use to him and Keira. 

By the time Lambert had awoken, breakfast was already being prepared and his armor and underclothes were laid out perfectly on the foot of the bed. He smiled in spite of himself and dressed, noticing some dark love bites on his neck and shoulders in the mirror. They would fade before he got to Oxenfurt, not that Keira would mind. She had her own dalliances when they were apart, but none came between the two of them (which, he thought with a chuckle, was probably out of their own self-preservation). No, the marks were just a little piece of home to go with him for a few days, and he dug his thumb into one just to feel the sting. 

Geralt and Eskel were not in the dining room when he emerged, but there was a hearty breakfast out on the table. Marlene crossed the room to wrap him into a hug. Though she was absolutely dwarfed by his size, that didn't stop her from pushing him into the chair at the head of the table, lecturing him to "actually learn to cook for himself" while out on the road this time. Lambert laughed and took a slice of meat pie onto his plate. 

"I don't know why I should bother, it'll never be as good as yours." He said to her, taking a dramatically large bite for emphasis. She tutted at him before opening the front door and calling for the others. 

Eskel and Geralt trailed in when Lambert was already helping himself to a second serving. 

"Geez, couldn't wait for us?" Eskel flicked his ear, sitting down next to him in time to avoid the other's swatting hand.

"Gotta pack. Need to be on the road in time to get to Kagen by nightfall." He returned to his breakfast, cramming the better part of a whole poached egg in his mouth.

"Already done, no need to worry." Geralt patted his shoulder before filling his own plate, settling in next to Eskel. 

Lambert paused, one cheek stuffed full like a rodent as he stared at the others. He blinked after a moment, expression open with surprise. 

Geralt chuckled, picking up a piece of bacon and nibbling on it. "Oh no, Lambert, no need to thank us,  _ really. _ " His snark was obvious, but all in good fun. 

Blinking again, Lambert managed to swallow his mouthful. "What about the alchemy ingredients? I have some stashed--"

"In a crate behind the still. We know. It's taken care of." 

He scoffed. "Yeah, okay. But I bet you forgot about my lucky--"

"Lucky gnomish grindstone. Yes, yes, 's with the rest of your stuff in the left-hand saddlebag." Eskel piped up from his stack of pancakes, drowning in syrup. 

"An' before ya ask, we packed extra socks. You can't possibly 'spose Keira to the same stench we had to endure." That came with a smug smile that Eskel couldn't hide behind his fork. 

His face twisted in mock irritation, flipping the older witcher off. His smile turned to a laugh, deep and rolling and  _ very _ contagious. The three of them were laughing for a good while, past the point of the original joke. Lambert finally quieted with a sip of his black tea, grimacing at the bitterness but too stubborn to add sugar. 

"Ah, thank you, guys. It's one less thing to worry about." In spite of the growth he had made this past season, he was still sheepish in his thanks, humility a foreign concept to the cocky man.

The other two just smiled, returning to their meals. 

\--

Though they had worked to make sure he wouldn't have to rush, Lambert still left after breakfast anyway. He was always like this, hating goodbyes and trying to avoid them at all costs. But Corvo Bianco was a lot smaller than Kaer Morhen, with many more people to duck. 

Geralt watched the younger man squirm and fuss like an embarrassed child as Marlene kissed him on the cheek. 

"It took me all winter to beat some basic manners into your head. If you don't remember them when you come back, you'll have to cook for yourself." Her knobbly finger was wagging at him, but she had a grin on her face. Lambert feigned shock.

"Whoa, what's with the threats? Can you really imagine  _ me _ doing such a thing?" 

The smack of her hand on the back of his head was satisfying, if a bit hollow sounding. 

"Mouthy thing. I  _ am _ your elder, you know." 

Rubbing the sore spot on his head, Lambert smiled. "Yeah, I know. Don't worry, I can't promise I'll be good but you know I'd never jeopardize a full belly." He pulled her into a hug, something Geralt had only seen him do with a hand full of people over their near-century together. 

Eskel came up next to Geralt, their shoulders brushing as Marlene and Lambert parted. He turned to them, looking a bit nervous as his eyes bounced between the two in front of him.

Eskel was the first to speak, thank the gods. "C'mere pup! We're gonna miss you!" He grabbed Lambert's wrist and pulled him toward the elder witchers, who both wrapped him in a rib-crushing embrace. 

"Ah! Stop! This is disgusting!" Lambert was complaining but making no effort to get away, suppressing a chuckle under his breath. 

Geralt gave him a kiss, quick and chaste in comparison to the ones from last night, and Eskel did the same. 

"We love you, you know. If you want to come back, even before winter, you always can." Geralt's voice was a bit sticky with emotion, and Lambert would mock him if not for the knot in his own throat. Leave it to the blow-hard to make declarations like these. He nodded.

"Or don't," Eskel said with an exaggerated shrug, "means more food for me." His lopsided grin was easier to respond to than Geralt's sap. Lambert wrapped him tight in his arms and squeezed. 

"If you don't watch out, you'll be too big for me to fit in bed when I come back." He dug his fingers into Eskel's sides, laughing as the older witcher wriggled in his grip. 

When their laughter died down, he stepped back and looked at his brothers-in-arms. 

"Love you guys too. I gotta hit the road. Try not to fall down the well of wine while I'm gone." 

Geralt and Eskel stood watching him ride off from the edge of the road until his horse was a dot on the horizon. 

"So this is it, then? Our witchering days are over?" Geralt asked, eyes still trained on the road. Eskel wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled hip until they were hip to hip. 

"Maybe, maybe not." He began, leaning against Geralt, "But we can 'ave new days now. Try our hand at a simpler life."

Geralt turned his head to Eskel, eyebrow cocked.

"Please. Knowing us, this will be anything but simple." 

Eskel hummed, "'S fine with me."

Geralt let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and laughed. 

"I guess it is with me, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read through this whole thing thank you so much! You are clearly a person who can tolerate an inhuman amount of schmoop. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! How will Lambert and Keira's reunion go? Will Eskel ever build that goat pen? How many times will Geralt try to sneak out to take a contract? Comment below!

**Author's Note:**

> If I had to describe their relationship, I'd say that the wolf school guys have been through too much to have a clearly defined relationship. They love each other, trust and respect each other, but I wouldn't consider it strictly romantic. Those sort of boundaries matter less when you're 100 years old, anyway. They just belong to each other.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Talk to me about head canons and stuff!! I have thoughts.


End file.
